Rain
by mitsune
Summary: When her father dies, Princess Marie Louise's cousin becomes sick and is nursed back to health by George and Maria Louise. Never fully healthy, she is torn between her and her responsibilities to her cousin and her schoolgirl desires.
1. The Funeral

Anything that is not mine isn't mine. You probably know what that would be (a.k.a. everything except the narrator). That's it!  
  
  
  
Why does it always rain at funerals? Grey, wet rain soaks everything. Black gowns just look blacker when wet and they feel ten pounds heavier. My father's mahogany coffin shines from water and tears. So many tears and none of them mine. How can I cry for a man I barely knew? He looks the same dead as alive, the only picture I have of him is during my parent's wedding. A wedding and a funeral, how apropos. His death was a sad event; he was much loved by his people. Love is too strong a word for a man who sent you away when you were four.  
  
Finally, when the last person steps away from the coffin to the reception, I can face his grave. The blood red rose I hold is dropped on the fresh earth.  
  
"I cannot say anything about you," I whisper, the words like sandpaper. My own raspy voice is the opposite of the voice I have been training myself to speak. Long hours I spent perfecting it until it sounded thick like honey and as trained as those groomed toy poodles.  
  
The reception hall teams with people, all wet and robed in black. A truly depressing sight. Tiny finger cakes and expensive wines are served to those who can still have an appetite after seeing my pale, still father. I have no appetite after seeing my father's papery skin and fixed expression. It scares me. I cough and ready myself before I stand in front of the crowd. Because of my father's death, I have his lands and his title and must take my place as a French noble.  
  
"My father was a much loved man, I am told," my voice rings clear and true and many turn to me. "I never knew him; I cannot say anything about him. All I know is that he loved my mother, and her death ate at him until he sent me to school because he couldn't face me. His love killed him." The rain and the wet black cloth bothered me too much. Originally, I was going to stand here and say something sugary and sticky like an over sweetened sticky bun. I know that sweet and sultry would not describe anything. And my father died because he loved too much. I will never love so much I would die if the other died. "I swear to take my father's title and land." Before I step down, I meet a blonde's eyes.  
  
As I walk into the crowds, the blonde meets me and grins. "You must visit me soon. Christmases are too short to uphold a friendship," she says. Instantly, I curtsy to the older girl.  
  
"Yes, my princess," I say though my voice mocks. She is my better, and I remind her constantly, even though she always wrinkles her nose when I do. Excusing myself from her presence, I run into the rain. My already soaked dress cannot get wetter, what will more rain do? I hate the depression of the damp crowd. No one thinks I can be as just and fair as my father, and I hate it. I know that the loyal and trusted counselors of my father's do not think much of his overly sheltered daughter and they will try to usurp my power.  
  
Grey is lighter than black. The rain can only be so sad, and it can't whisper in my ears. The rain does not spread rumors about my unworthiness. My pretty dress turns brown from the mud I spin circles in. Laughter rings through the mist, my laughter. Music touches my lips and I let the song I had been keeping silent into the air. My singing teacher always said my voice was too deep.  
  
Each note seems to be interrupted by a hacking cough. I cough until I have nothing to cough, and I still cannot sing. My voice all but disappeared.  
  
"Mademoiselle, you will catch cold if continue to stay in this rain," someone tells me. Through my long, wet, violet hair I see a red haired man. But as soon as I see him, my vision fogs and the coughs start again. 


	2. The Piano

Okay, so I have no clue if this is read. The last chapter was pretty depressing. The whole story isn't! Thanks all that read it!  
A blurred face whispers things my foggy ears can't understand. Pain shoots through my body when I try to focus. I go black again.  
  
A headache burns my thoughts. A grey mist hangs over everything. I can't focus. And everything goes black.  
  
Warm liquid slides down my throat and stings. My throat is red and inflamed from coughing. The liquid comes back out. The world goes black.  
  
The first thing I focus on is a male's face. Instantly I shrink away from him, and my cheeks turn as red as my throat is. At my movement he looks very relieved. Very few times before had I met another male near my age; the few males I met were elderly or youths. He hands me a bowl of broth, then leaves. I hear the door shut behind him. Before I can notice my surroundings, they go black.  
  
"Are you feeling better?" a female voice asks me. I can tell it is the princess before I see her. Propping myself up on my elbows, I try to croak some words out, but nothing does come out. Maria Louise smiles and helps me sit. "Aurore, you have been sick for a week, I have been worried." A week? I must have been asleep most of time; I cannot remember anything after the funeral. "You must rest, adieu for now." I slide back into the bed and close my eyes hearing the door close behind her.  
  
The morning light casts shadows across the room. Like in a dream, there is piano music. My ears seem to be filled with miasma. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I can tell the piano music is in this room. I wince as I stand and limp over to my dress. In the pocket there is the tiny flute I always carry around.  
  
From my lips comes a lilting tune that matches the piano. Staggering towards the piano, I finally sit and join the music. The tune swirls around me like a spell by a master mage. And I am an apprentice, giving any weak magic I possess to my master and teacher. The flute is my wand and with it I can create both panoramic vistas and minute worlds. A master always learns from his apprentice just as the pupil learns from the teacher. I am not sure if I am the teacher or the student. Magic blurs the lines until one is indistinguishable from the other.  
  
When the music stops, the sickness returns. Slowly, I continue to walk towards the piano. Nausea is at the edge of my consciousness.  
  
"Mademoiselle, you should rest," the pianist says. I am in silent agreement; my legs want to collapse under me. Curiosity has the better of me, and I long to find out who plays piano so beautifully. Clutching my flute I lean forward and to the grand piano, letting the piano catch me. My eyes fall to the keys, where pale hands rest on them then my eyes steadily climb up to his face. It is the same the scarlet haired man that told me that I would be sick and later helped nurse me to health. Another racking cough claims me and blinds me for long moments.  
  
"Should I?" I ask between coughs. It is only now that I notice I am wearing only a shift. My cheeks redden considerably.  
  
"You play the flute exceptionally well. How long were you playing with me?" he inquires. I blush harder. My teachers always thought that I could be a flutist if all else failed. None of my teachers had a lot of confidence in any of my other ladylike talents. My embroidery was something to be desired and my singing was too rough.  
  
The pianist and I are opposites, my red eyes and purple hair to his violet eyes and scarlet hair. As soon as I start coughing again, he rises immediately and catches me as I fall. I can feel him carry me before I black out.  
  
When I wake, I can hear Maria Louise and the pianist talking and I can see the pianist. Both speak of my incurability.  
  
I force words out of my mouth, "I am better." The words seem like lies then. I feel like I'd like to vomit. Bits of memory swirl in my head like pieces of a puzzle. The fog prevents me from piecing it all together. At my voice, both turn to look at me. With their help, I get out of bed. When the pianist leaves, Maria Louise helps me dress. While dressing me, she tells me that a physician came.  
  
"Cousin, there is a small party in two days. Will you be able to attend?" she wonders. Looking at her straight, I nod 'yes.'  
  
Remembering something, I ask, "Who is the male? The pianist?" He helped me recover, so I wish to know his name. "He plays piano so well." At my question, she blushes as red as my eyes. The tune he played weaves through my thoughts as it has since I heard it. As soon as the first tune starts, my flute's harmony joins the melody. The soft music lulls me.  
  
"He is George de Sand, the man I love," she replied. The name echoes in the mist in my head. Somewhere I have heard it before, but sickness is hazy and makes me forgetful. In the depths of my mind comes the feeling of being held by George de Sand. Just the memory makes me blush even though I was mostly unconscious when it happened. I never really talked to another man near my age before I spoke to George de Sand. 


	3. The Party

Last chapter! I have a faint feeling I am speaking to myself. Oh well.  
Servants give me one of Maria Louise's dresses to wear to the party. All of my clothes are in my father's manor and my cousin is near my size. With little jeweled barrettes, the servants pull my hair off my face, insisting that I have such pretty ruby eyes. Suddenly I become a courtier when my hair is put up. I am a lady, not an innocent schoolgirl or an ill young woman. All the court mannerisms about approaching the opposite gender or how to eat finger food without staining your gloves or even how to giggle when nothing's funny and to smile when you're unhappy, come back to me.  
  
As I expected, many young males are flocked around Maria Louise, the beautiful princess of Neo-France. I can slip in unnoticed and slip onto the balcony. For the first time in weeks, I breathe the fresh air of earth. Everything smells faintly of roses, like the only memory I have of my mother. I whistle a few bars of the song George played. That song will forever be emblazoned in my mind. I doubt I can forget that melody. Extracting my flute from the only pocket in the dress, I raise it to my lips and let the tune dance on the wind. In my mind, the scene in the bedroom when I listened to George play stretches through every part of my thoughts. Like an ink blot spreading through paper, it enlarges until my whole head is filled with the pastel shades of the room and the soft piano music. The picture of the washed out room with the morning sunlight splashes through every part of my body. It was the dream of every romantic schoolgirl. I used to fantasize being in a room like that, with the early sun shining through big floor to ceiling windows and richly upholstered furniture washed out in the warm light. An attractive man accompanying my flute never entered my daydreams. I had never thought about males before the funeral. I had never thought about young men before I met George de Sand.  
  
Lost in my reverie, I did not notice anyone approach me.  
  
"I see you have recovered. I am glad the physician was wrong," George comments. I could recognize that voice anywhere. He was glad? A blush rises to my cheeks. My cheeks have not been this consistently red before my father's funeral.  
  
"What did the physician say?" I request. Maria Louise never told me what the physician said, just that he spoke.  
  
"He expected you would not recover completely and you'd be very weak the rest of your life," he explains. I am glad too that the physician was wrong. It would not be very good if I was weak the rest of my life. "Adieu, Mademoiselle Aurore," he utters before returning to the party. My cousin's love is understandable, George has many virtues. It is easy to love him. 


	4. The Walk

I guess chapter three was not the last chapter.

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Maria Louise insisted that I stay in the palace. I can still hear her argument but most, I can hear George's argument. My father's manor was cold, dead, empty, from a life I never led. I wasn't needed to run his land. Above my head, I can hear the clock tick away the minutes until I go out with George de Sand. Despite George's hopeful words month ago, the physician was correct. I now tire easily and I am weak. Like how he nursed me back to health, he pledged that he would nurse me to strength. On good days, we ride or walk through the rose gardens. In poor weather, we spend the afternoons in the music room where he teaches me popular ballroom dances and I play my flute for him.

At two, his servant comes to get me. He leads me to the front hall where George waits. I lay my hand on his elbow as if we were dancing. One, two, three, two, two, three, our shoes click on the stone pathways of the garden and my hand flutters on his elbow, too shy to touch him.

"Mademoiselle Aurore,when are you leaving for theConservatory?" his voice wavers, hiding emotion. He knows although he asks.

"Soon. I will miss you both." I refer to George and Maria Louise as if they were married. My hand flits above his arm, afraid he'll notice my slip. I turn away, covering my blush.

"We never will marry; the princess must marry well above my social status," he whispers. I drop my hand from his arm. My cousin loves him. Can't she bend the rules for George de Sand? I know the answer though, even before I can hear him walk away from me. Through the corner of my eye I watch him lean down to the roses planted beside the walkway. "As you must understand." I nod. Yes, court forces us to conform to its rules. I can feel my cousin's pain, Maria Louise understood her fate much before I did. I step towards George as I feel myself grow faint.

When I wake, I know George is near me as is Maria Louise. The princess worries like a mother hen.

"Tomorrow we can spend our afternoon in the music room," George says.

"Monsieur George, please do not fault yourself."

When my flute accompanies George's piano, I feel so complete. In the dim music room, all that matters is our melody. Outside the room, I know that my sickness will return and I know that my cousin longs for a man she can't marry. But as soon as my lips touch my flute, I forget her pain or my weakness. I forget George's pain. I forget my father's advisor's words.

On my eighteenth birthday, my father's advisors told me to marry. Soon, I would need to settle down and take control of the estate. Soon I would have to cease being a spoiled schoolgirl. I couldn't spend my life sheltered from the world. And I should marry should my sickness interfere with my work. During our walk that afternoon, George advised me to apply to the Conservatory in Paris. Then I could continue my education and put off marriage.

Beside George, I sit on the piano bench. I watch his hands dance across the piano keys as I drop my flute from my lips and set it on the piano. My fingers join his dance across the piano, like he taught me, has been teaching me. In the months since I fell ill, George taught me to play piano. Long hours, patient with me, all for the moment I could join him and, like on the ballroom, our hands dance elaborate waltzes together. In the middle, our hands meet and he takes mine and leads me away from the piano.

Around the music room, we replicate our fingers. I can feel his hand on my back and his breath on my hair. We are so close and our movements so practiced. He leads me, his hand constantly on me in case I faint, in case I realize.

In soft voices, George commented how poor a dancer my cousin was. Such a lady, so well bred, he laughed so quiet. During parties, I spin next to him and I know what his touch feels like through my dress. My father's advisors told me how good it would be for the family if I married George de Sand. As the princess's cousin, there are always rumors about me.

"I'm sorry I am not my cousin, Monsieur George," I whisper when his hand rests on my back a moment too long. His gaze meets mine for a second.

I told my advisors that marrying George de Sand would be impossible and I would be betraying my country and my cousin. Maria Louise's feelings matter more than mine. She has known the Rose Knight since she was a child and loved him as long. Soon, I will go to the Conservatory and the advisors will never have the chance to put into words my deepest wish.

Yet, when we dance I only need remember our clasped hands.


	5. The Dance

Thank you for reviewing. Reviews are always welcome, especially criticism. And, yes, this is a Maria Louise/George fic, among other things.

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From Maria Louise's siting room, we watch George de Sand fence. Maria Louise hovers near the window, watching her beloved. She wavers with his every move and I envy her clear devotion. When George returns inside, out of sight, she turns to me. And I patiently lead her in the dance that George taught me not days ago. My cousin fumbles and she lacks my grace but I watch her improve. During the next party, she wants to spin at his side. 

"People will talk," she says, "if you continue to dance with Monsieur George." I nod. Instead of my cousin's hand on my back, I imagine George de Sand. Instead of George de Sand, I imagine Cerise. Teachers reprimanded her, when we danced she held me too close. Yet no one as graceful or talented, instructors had nothing else to criticize. During our dancing classes, we were so beautiful together.

I gave her my first kiss. I wasn't alone. With no males, we turned to each other. Most girls called it practice for when they met men. Yet I knew that Cerise never wanted to practice.

In the afternoons, I imagine my hand on Cerise's elbow. George holds himself like she did and I know that Cerise should have been practice. When she held me tight, I should have imagined a man like George holding me. Yet, I never did. Perhaps my imagination was poor but I never thought of males before I met George. And when I think of George, I imagine Cerise.

Maria Louise's maid serves us lunch. My cousin fingers her lunch, the tiny sandwiches. Perhaps it is the way the sun shines through the windows or perhaps it is the way she longs after George, I am reminded of Cerise so easily today.

"You seem so distracted today. Is it what I said?" the princess asks, her voice betraying her fear. She is afraid that I too fell in love with George de Sand. She is afraid that it was foolish to introduce us. "Please tell me." The way she leans in, puppy eyes, I remember Cerise.

"No, no, you reminded me for a moment of the girl I shared a dorm room with," I reply, but stop myself from continuing. I feel silly describing Cerise or explaining why I'll never love George. Maria Louise smiles, laughs, in relief, joy. Like Maria Louise, Cerise had a golden mane, long limbs, blue eyes. Instead of Maria Louise's blond river, her hair was short like a boy.

"I can be your prince. Unlike those other silly girls, you never have to go to court to find a husband," she whispered late at night. And I knew when we danced that I would never want to. As tall as any male, I knew she was a better partner than one.

Before we graduated, before my father's funeral, she told me only my lips touched hers. Girls told me how much they envied me. Each of them wanted to dance with Cerise. In the back of my mind, all those years, I figured she probably kissed at least one. But she whispered, sweet, and I knew that I would never have to worry.

Yet, I could never tell my father's advisors that I loved Cerise. They would scoff, ask me to marry and create an heir. I shouldn't be a silly girl. They would tell me what I already know, that she's married to an old lord and I wasn't invited to her wedding because it hurt too much.

At my farewell party, Maria Louise cuts in and takes my place as George's dancing partner. Her dance isn't as smooth as mine but she fits into George's arms in a way I never could. His movements remind me so much of Cerise. The way he looks at my cousin is different than any way he looked at me. I miss our afternoons together, those precious few hours when I could pretend I was a schoolgirl again. Those moments, I imagined I could truly be with Cerise. And I know that somehow my cousin, the princess, can live with her prince, her Rose Knight, forever. Just like I know that someday I'll return to Cerise's arms.

Maybe, she'll have a child or two when that day comes, her cheeks flush with childbirth. Her husband dead, we can raise her children together and she can catch me when I faint. My father's advisors were right. I should marry, just not to a lord or George de Sand. Until then, I console myself with the thought that Cerise's manor is close to Paris.

When Maria Louise and George de Sand wave me off, they stand so close I can see nothing between them. And I know that in a very different way, they are in the same position I am.


	6. The End

Teachers say I am distracted. Their disapproving stares, nods, I know they think I can do better. They scoff and wonder why I am not marrying and having children. It is a better pursuit for one as talentless as I. And I know they are right. My tone is too weak. My body can't stand the rigor. One time I had potential, before I became sick. Every day I can tie my corset tighter than the day before. I feel it crushing my ribs but without it I cannot sit up for the hours I need to. Without it my body would collapse.

I am too young to fall apart from the inside out. Every thin note I play is one more moment taken from my life. When summer comes again, a year spent in the school, I direct the carriage driver not to palace where Maria Louise waits but to a smaller palace. The manor looks the same as in the photo Cerise sent me. I wait until a maid greets me and leads me to the lady of the household.

At the window Cerise embroiders interwoven flowers and birds, images she used to scoff at. When I enter she puts aside her work and beckons me to come forward. I sit on a small sofa near her.

"Lady, what brings you to my modest home?" she asks. Her once short hair is bound up. She lacks all her once masculine grace. Just as mine is, her voice is weak from a too tight corset.

"Cerise, I wanted to see you, to hear your voice, to smell your perfume." I can hear myself beg. Suddenly those nights, sleeping at her side, are so distant. The taste of her lips, the smell of her hair, the sound of her breath, are from another world. The woman in front of me doesn't live in that world. "Lady, I'm sorry." She looks out the window and touches her stomach.

"We don't exist there anymore. And we can never return."

"Then kiss me once more." She shakes her head and stands to lead me out. Before she opens the door to let me out, she raises her hand to brush my cheek.

"I'm sorry." I can't raise my eyes to meet hers. And I know that I cannot live in that world. The world of music is now gone for me as was the world of schoolgirls. With my short life all I could do was obey my father's advisors and give them an heir.

When I enter the palace again, my cousin does not give me special treatment. Almost like she suspects me, she glances at me but never looks me in the face. George de Sand greets me with the warmth of a courtier. The many afternoons we spent together long forgotten. A year is a long time.

"Monsieur George, please meet me in the rose garden tomorrow afternoon," I request, plead, beg.

"I would be honored, Mademoiselle Aurore." Slick, heartless words slide from his mouth like I mean as much to him as the floor he walks upon. I wish that it did not have to be this way.

When we meet the next day, he wears the finery of a lord and my corset clutches my stomach so I can only force out whispers. Death eats away at me. Surrounded by the sickly sweet roses, I can almost imagine the peace I felt a year ago with George.

"I left the school. Music is not world for me. Monsieur George, please, will you marry me? Once I die, you'll have the status of a duke. Then you can marry the princess," I murmur. George stands above me and I am too afraid to look at his reaction. "I need only to create an heir and my weakened body can't survive childbirth." And that moment, he hates me. He hated that I provided the only way that he could marry the princess. He hated me so completely that he can say yes.


End file.
